


Diplomatic Relations

by semiautomatic (kalashnikov)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Sex, Hate Sex, Intersex, Interspecies Awkwardness, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Other, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 05:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3884494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalashnikov/pseuds/semiautomatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weyoun is not easy to break, but Damar is willing to try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diplomatic Relations

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I have written since 2009. There are probably errors, I am sort of re-learning how to do this entire writing things. Be gentle.
> 
> Also, this is just alien porn.

A good diplomat always maintains their calm. A good diplomat does not snap or snarl, but smiles and negotiates; as such, Weyoun was the perfect example of one. The way his tone was always even and soothing, the ever-present small smile and inquisitive violet eyes. The big ears that loved to listen.

Damar hated him. Damar hated him so much.

Weyoun was cold as the surface of a comet, but Damar had so much fire within him - passion for his duty, serving the glory of Cardassia - sloshing all around his hardened core. Breaking Weyoun became a bit of a hobby after a while, not unlike returning to a very complicated puzzle here and there after a day’s work.

Damar tried everything. Kanar, Weyoun refused. Treats and delicacies from around the Alpha Quadrant, he turned up his nose at. Bedding him, Weyoun was as impassive as ever.

Even with the Vorta pinned beneath him, his dark grey nails digging into the even milky white of Weyoun’s skin to leave marks, he could barely detect any change in his breath rate. Weyoun was utterly unafraid of Damar, content to spread his legs when the Cardassian was drunk, angry, sexual, depressed, or all of the above. It was often a package deal, the Vorta had observed, and indulging the people your most crucial alliances are with was simply good business. He was a good diplomat.

Weyoun explained the same countless times to Damar; Vorta were not sexual beings. They had the capability to have sex, but their organs were vestigial at most. Centuries upon centuries of genetic engineering and cloning by the Founders eliminated the need for the Vorta to reproduce naturally. They were a solitary, single-sex, single-gender species. Really, it was quite simple, Weyoun thought, but to his annoyance, Damar still had the hardest time wrapping his primitive reptilian brain around the concept.

“It’s impossible that you feel nothing.” He would grunt and slur drunkenly while rubbing himself along Weyoun’s genital slit. This was the game. He could make Weyoun crack that cool demeanour, he was sure of it.

“I truly do not.” Weyoun repeated in a deadpan tone, his expression unchanging even as Damar pressed his hips forwards and entered him. The Vorta’s genitalia were unlike those of any other alien Damar had been in bed with, and he supposed that was fair, given their exotic Gamma Quadrant origins. They - or at least, Weyoun, - possessed a genital slit not unlike his own, but soft and fleshy, with no penis to evert. Just purple, wet flesh and a hole Damar could fuck.

That was usually how it went. Damar rutting between Weyoun’s legs while Weyoun observed quietly and essentially waited for it to be over. The lack of passion on the Vorta’s part was just another thing that infuriated Damar even further, dropping kindling on that fire of hatred inside of him. He loathed it, he truly loathed it, the Vorta’s cool expression and the way he looked so superior and in control even when Damar was pounding him into the bed. This wouldn’t do.

Damar stopped abruptly and pulled out. Weyoun raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes quizzically.  
“You’re done already?” He quipped in a slightly derisive tone. “Usually it takes more than one minute.”

“Shut up.” Damar snapped, lowering his hand to Weyoun’s slit. He had never taken the time to properly explore what was down there, hate-filled and drunk as most of their fucking was. Conveniently enough, there was a good amount of natural lubrication, a very thin and violet-tinged fluid that readily coated Damar’s fingers as he pushed them inside.

“I really don’t see what you’re trying to accomplish.” Weyoun sat himself up a little straighter, his tone becoming short. Damar ran his fingers carefully over the inner walls of Weyoun’s entrance, moving them in and out, finding the contours of it. His logic was that well, with Cardassian women, there often was a spot inside that when he managed to touch - they would scream with pleasure. Maybe this was the same.

Weyoun gave an aggravated sigh and lied flat down, but Damar was determined. His brain was swimming in a healthy amount of kanar and he was stupid and confident; all of this would be worth it for the look on Weyoun’s face when he succeeded.

His finger brushed against a small bump of flesh far inside, and Weyoun jolted. _Dabo_ , Damar thought with a victorious laugh. _Jackpot._ The walls of the passage clenched around his fingers briefly, and Weyoun looked horrified, confused, and offended all at once, as if he had suddenly been hit with a phaser stun to the chest.

“What was that? What are you doing to me, Damar?” The Vorta’s voice pitched lower, as it always did when he was threatening and reprimanding. He tried to squirm away from Damar to little avail. “If you kill me, the Founder make sure you-”

Damar roared with laughter. “I’m not trying to kill you, Weyoun. That’s what sex feels like.” Fingers still buried inside the Vorta, he touched the same spot again, and Weyoun’s mouth fell open in silent shock. Feeling very bold indeed, Damar shuffled his body down until his face was level with Weyoun’s crotch. Now that he had found the ‘on’ button, so to speak, the Vorta seemed more receptive than ever, the lubrication increasing until Damar’s entire hand felt drenched. The violet sex organ seemed to darken and swell just slightly with arousal.

Damar pressed his long, forked tongue to the top of the slit, and Weyoun honest-to-guls moaned. Something Damar hadn’t heard before, and apparently, neither had Weyoun, as he clapped his hand over his mouth in shock. Bit by bit, Damar was regaining control - such sweet victory, to have the Vorta gasping and squirming at the mercy of his actions for a change.

He lapped and sucked at the flesh while still moving his fingers, as gently and sensually as he would treat his own wife. The inner muscles continued to contract around his fingers as he did, and he was pleased to feel Weyoun’s trembling hands in his hair. When he glanced up, he was even more pleased to see violet eyes wide and glassy with pleasure. A fine purple blush had appeared on the Vorta’s cheeks, and the longer Damar continued, the louder Weyoun became. He was panting and groaning, shamelessly loud, fingers twisting in Damar’s hair, eyes almost rolling into the back of his head with ecstasy.

Damar had never seen him like this, and Weyoun could not remember having felt like this in any of his last few incarnations. If Damar was less drunk, he would have been mildly fascinated by the biology of the Vorta, and how touching that nerve bundle deep inside him seemed to set off a cascade reaction of sorts - but he was drunk, so he just licked, using one side of his tongue, then the other, then both split halves in unison. He noticed the hands in his hair tightening every time his tongue passed over a spot at the top of the slit, so he closed his mouth over the area curiously. Weyoun almost screamed.

“Damar— Damar, stop.” His voice cracked. “Damar, stop I don’t know what-“ He cut himself off with a loud, high pitched noise Damar hadn’t heard any other living being produce before, some sort of animalistic keening that seemed so uncharacteristic of the soft-spoken Vorta. Muscles spasmed around Damar’s fingers, and a fluid of some kind gushed forth and made a mess of the unsuspecting Cardassian and his bedsheets. Damar drew back quickly, sputtering and wiping at his mouth.

The brief disgust at having Vorta cum on his chin and hand was eclipsed by joy at the sight of Weyoun lying before him with splayed legs, a heaving chest, and his hair messed. He wasn’t looking at Damar, gasping to catch his breath, cheeks still flushed purple - how Damar wished he could take a picture. For once, Weyoun didn’t seem to have anything smart to say, having been rendered temporarily speechless, as one could expect to be after their first orgasm in several hundred years.

Damar laughed uproariously and wiped his hand on the bedsheets before reaching for his glass of kanar on the bedside.

“What,” Weyoun rasped after a minute, “Did you do- to me.”  
“Made you orgasm, I think.” Damar sneered, taking a drink. “Want me to pour one out for you to celebrate?”  
“Impossible,” Weyoun sputtered, trying to collect himself and sit up, though his legs felt numb and his body thoroughly shaky. “The Vorta are not made for pleasure. I feel… weakened. I hate this.”

The kanar was set aside as Damar grabbed the Vorta’s frail little neck to stop him from escaping. The victor would get to enjoy his spoils, and he could admire his solved puzzle.

“And I hate you. I thought you said you were fascinated by interspecies sexuality. We’re not done here.” Weyoun gave a distressed sound at the feeling of Damar’s still partially everted cock pressing against his leg, and the Cardassian could swear he got harder just listening to that.

“I hate you.” Weyoun amended his previous statement.  
A good diplomat was not one who allowed himself to be distracted by petty primitive matters of sexuality, and a good diplomat certainly did not give his allies the upper hand so easily as this.

“We agree on something.” Damar smirked.  
The game was far from over. A puzzle could be completed again and again, and the satisfaction of assembling it correctly would only increase over time.

Damar hated him. He hated him so much. He would break him again.  
And again.


End file.
